Deconstruction of the Blues

The Prism

73 THE PRISM The prism is hanging in the window where you left it I think of you when I see the sunlight shattered in its colors I can’t make it cohere make the cripple facts come whole the way I took you in at your eviction tried to nurse you give you space make you whole Each spectrum is a vibrant ghost white light broken into all the colors ghost of science of the ideal world each spectrum is a droll creature a proof like when I saw my own bones on the screen of Dr. Chomski’s fluoroscope Your house is still not rented the neat blue trim child care house with the swingsets folded in the backyard the landlord putters round there at night I’ve tried to write about you, Ann another fall someone else going down in the whispering scraps of paper the rotting food the dead goldfish of their lives about watching the familiarity of your face its purpose its humor echoing becoming a hollow face in which a murderer stalks its victim I saw the devil there I saw the headlight of a train hooting down a tunnel this sunlight in my room is like childhood each droll little spectrum all the colors an ideal world a laughing God 74 What am I writing about? I love you Am I writing about myself? always in love with the morning star “sweet sweet you show me the stars in heaven” There’s an ache in my chest the basket of my bones a baby curled up and hating the light of its passing shines through an x-ray Writing about writing? How are you? Will you be well? I love you the bones of sunlight a laughing God life this hot pained wandering burning to burn the book of itself ...